An Unfinished Life
by FromMyFingertips
Summary: Gregory Lestrade has just been given the news that he has terminal cancer. He tries to find meaning in life, but he can't help but wish there was more time. It isn't until he meets the Doctor that he realizes just how much more time he really has left.


**time (tm)**

**_n._**

**A non-spatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through the present to the future.**

Time was something that was not on my side. The headaches started only weeks ago and already I was driving to the hospital on my lunch break to receive the results of my CT scan. I had promised myself that morning that no matter what the diagnosis I wasn't going to tell a single soul. Partly because if it turned out to be nothing more than basic migraines I didn't want to scare anyone for something so minuscule. If it was something bigger there was no use worrying them over something no one could control. I stopped the car in the rather empty parking lot and sat there for a while simply feeling the beat of my own heart. I was still living, still breathing, as of now I still had time.

I entered the hospital and headed straight up to the oncology department. I kept calm by telling myself that people are diagnosed with brain tumors every day and they live to tell about it. There was, however one diagnosis I was hoping to avoid. I stepped inside the doctor's rather large posh office. The walls were covered with diplomas and awards clearly this was a man who was good at what he did. I took a seat in one of the leather chairs that were positioned in front of his desk.

"Nice office you have here. I'm kind of jealous." I said trying to lighten the somber mood that seemed to have filled the room.

"Greg we got the results of your scan."

"I know you called me on the phone. That's why I'm here so let's just cut the bullshit. I'm a grown man I can handle it."

The doctor removed his glasses exposing his brown beady eyes. He stared directly at me not a single expression readable on his face. "Greg you have cancer."

That was the diagnosis I didn't except nor the one I had wanted. "You're joking right?"

"I wish I could say I was."

I felt a flood of emotions come over me from depression, to grief, rage and even shock. "You called me all the way out here to tell me I have cancer? Bleeding Christ you could have told me that over the phone."

"We like to meet with our patients face to face when it comes to giving them their results."

Patient the word alone caused my stomach to burn. "How long?"

"Well with chemotherapy…"

"I'm not getting chemo you must be out of your mind. Why would I want that?"

"Well it could give you at least an extra year."

"An extra year of what? I'm not prolonging it so just tell me how long I have so I can leave and go about my life."

"A few weeks…3 months maximum without treatment. Your cancer is quite aggressive." I didn't say another word as I got up and made my way to the door not wanting to hear any more nonsense from him. "Greg would you at least consider treatment?"

I didn't answer I just opened the door and left. I made my way back to my car as quickly as I could wanting to find some sanctuary before I released everything I had been feeling. I grabbed the steering wheel tightly as the tears began flowing freely from my eyes. I had cancer and there was nothing anyone could do to fix it. Within the span of a few minutes my life had been completely turned upside down. I thought about my ex-wife, my children, I hadn't seen them in years. My kids were grown by now and every time I tried to call there was no answer. I guess they just didn't want to speak with me. I thought about my friends, Sherlock, John, Molly, hell even Anderson even though I didn't like him very much. How was I going to keep it a secret from them? Surely they would take note of my deteriorating health. As much as I wanted to keep it to myself the possibility of doing so seemed out of my hands. I took a deep breath and started up the car heading back to Scotland Yard to finish my shift. I made sure I looked decent before heading inside and taking note of the lifts being worked on. I made my way to the door where the stairs were located and opened it slowly. I had hoped to avoid any strenuous physical activity after all my body was falling apart, but there was nothing I could do. I began to ascend to my office each step becoming increasingly more painful. I was extremely out of shape and my illness didn't help. I stopped a few stairs away from my office and vomited up the contents of my stomach something that occurred daily since my headaches began. I took a deep breath and continued finally making it to my office. I sat down in my big comfortable office chair and leaned back propping my feet up on the desk. Just when I had gotten situated Anderson strolled in with his annoying face and voice to match.

"What do you want?" I grumbled wanting nothing more than to attempt to sleep off my headache which was getting worse.

"It's Sherlock. He's at it again. Being belligerent towards me."

"Can't say I blame him."

"What?" I ignored him. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'd be feeling a lot better if I didn't have to constantly babysit you and Sherlock."

"You don't need to babysit me Lestrade."

I opened my eyes slowly and glanced at the detective who hovered over me. "Where did you come from?"

"Outside."

"Oh." I wasn't in the mood to deal with either of them, but I couldn't tell them about the physical pain I was currently in.

"I think I've figured out what happened to Mrs. Shaw down on Frasier Street."

"Good. Maybe you and Anderson should grab a cup of coffee and talk about it."

Sherlock and Anderson exchanged a quick glance. "Why would I want to do that? Just having him look at me depletes enough brain cells."

"You see what I mean Greg!" Anderson snapped.

"Why do you keep calling him Greg?" The detective retorted still not having come to grips with the fact that I did indeed have a first name.

"That's his name."

"It's also slang for the male sex organ so let's not go around shouting it."

"Just shut up both of you!" I shouted my eyes closed tightly trying to relieve some of the pressure that was building up. "Both of you out of my office!"

"But I just got here!" Sherlock whined.

I went to stand up only to fall back into my chair a little off balance. The two men stared at me confused as I sat there and waited for my equilibrium to level out. I stood up again this time being able to keep myself upright. "I've got a long day ahead of me and it's only lunch time. I have a lot of work to do and I don't have time to listen to you two fight with each other. Honestly you're like an old married couple."

"Ew." Sherlock said scrunching his nose. "Don't you want to know about Mrs. Shaw?"

"No not really. Her cat is missing that's not even my division."

"But that's not all!" Sherlock insisted.

"I DON'T CARE! ALRIGHT? I DON'T CARE ABOUT MRS. SHAW'S CAT IN FACT NEXT TIME I SEE HER CAT I'M GOING TO CHARGE AT IT FULL FORCE IN MY BMW AND SMASH IT INTO THE ROAD! NOW WILL YOU PLEASE LEAVE?" The two men were taken aback by my sudden outburst leaving immediately without speaking another word.

I slammed the door shut and sat back down my head throbbing. I somehow managed to get to sleep for a least a good hour or two and when I awoke I was feeling well enough to get some work done. I shuffled through my paperwork my eyesight going in and out as I tried to read the case notes Sherlock had scribbled for me. I took a break as my eyes blurred for the 50th time in the last 3 hours. I began to think about my life. I had lived a full one hadn't I? Achieved all the things I wanted to? Yet I still felt as if it was unfinished. I should be content with dying, but the truth was I never met a man who was o.k. knowing how little time he actually had left. I felt the tears return with more vigor and I sobbed loudly. I wasn't the man I had wanted to be. I was a horrible son having not spoken to my parents for years; I was a bad husband and an even worse father. I had always dreamed of one day becoming a star football player and instead I somehow ended up at Scotland Yard working murder cases. My life was pathetic and the thought of it ending so soon made it that much harder to cope with. Had I been a good man and done all the things I had strived for it would be ok to let go. I cursed time wishing I had more of it wishing it was being ripped away from me. God how I wanted more time.

Before I knew it the sun had set and I sat in my office with the lights out for they only upset my headaches further. I listened as the last person left and realized I was alone. I began to wonder if anyone would even care when I died or if they'd just shove me into an oven before sticking my ashes on a mantle somewhere. I sighed and began to straighten up my desk preparing to leave for the night. There was no use in sitting around and pitying myself. I stepped outside and was relieved the see the elevators were working again. I headed out into the parking garage and looked around for my car. I listened as the silence was disturbed by the most unusual noise I had ever heard. It was like a cyclic wheezing coming from behind me. I felt the wind pickup as it brushed my hair forward. This I found to be quite out of the ordinary considering the garage was enclosed and as the wind blew stronger a bright white light radiated throughout the entire garage. I turned around slowly and watched as a blue police box materialized right before my eyes. Silence fell once again as I stood there in complete shock my eyes bulging out of my head. The door creaked open and a rather tall man stepped out. He was around 6'0, slender, with wild brown hair that seemed to stick up in all directions. He wore a brown suit with blue pinstripes, a brown tie with a rather odd blue pattern upon it, brown tortoise shell glasses, and converse sneakers. I had to admit his choice of clothing struck a nerve with me for I had always wished I had, had the fashion sense to pull it off. I stared at him as he smiled softly at me.

"And who the hell are you?"

He titled his head a little clearly amused by my question. "I'm the Doctor." He then outstretched his hand towards me and in that moment for whatever reason I felt compelled to take it. "Come with me."

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><p><strong>This story won't be updated as frequently as some of my others being that I have so many works in progress going on. I just wanted to throw the idea out there and see what kind of reception I got before continuing any further. As always reviews are most welcome. This is also my first crossover fic and I wasn't too sure on what categories to post it in so if you feel it needs to be elsewhere please let me know.<br>**


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